


Escort Mission

by akire_yta



Series: prompt ficlets [372]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 19:33:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8680681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: tumblr anon asked:  can you write one where Alan and Scott are on a space rescue but poor lil Allie has a cold and did not tell anyone? And Scott realises he has a cold when he nearly falls asleep on the job?





	

**Author's Note:**

> (time for the semi-regular reminder that i post these first over at akireyta.tumblr.com (/ask if you want to drop a prompt my way and see what happens)

Scott was feeling pleasantly drained, the fatigue of a difficult job done well.  Out the forward window, Scott was catching glimpses of the other craft, a Titan-class surveyer, a quarter the length of Three but nearly twice as wide.  They were strangely squat little things, the product of engineering that didn’t have to combat wind shear and gravity.  This little craft was limping along under her own power again, Brains’ patch still holding as Three escorted her back to the safety of the fleet in orbit around the Moon.

Scott stretched; he’d like a nap, but he’d been halfway through reading and signing off on the TI annual report when the distress call had come in, and he’d learned at his cost that shareholders waited for no-one.  Sighing, he reached out and brought up the long rolling list of figures and statistics.

It was dull work, but repetitively easy, and Scott found himself sinking deeper and deeper into the goings on of their company.  The first sign of trouble caught him off guard, and it took a precious second for him to blink back up to the present.

“Woah, careful there, Thunderbird Three,” Captain Cho was calling out over the comms, her voice high and breathless.  “Hate to damage your pretty red paint job.”

“Got it, sorry, sorry,” Alan replied, his voice a little slow and thick

“Alan?” Scott asked pointedly as the comm line closed.  “It’s not like you to deviate from your space lane.”

He meant it as a joke, but Alan threw him a hot, angry, sideways look. “It’s fine,” he muttered, voice thick.  “Go back to your numbers.”

Scott blanked his holo and pushed up his restraint to sit facing Alan more directly.  Now that he was looking, even in profile Alan seemed all scrunched up and out of sorts.  “What’s going on?”

Alan rubbed his eyes.  “I’m fine-” he began, before exploding in a suite of sneezes.

Scott leaned back and waited for Alan to finish before he carefully raised one eyebrow.

“’ine,” Alan muttered, clearly knowing he was going against all available evidence.  His voice sounded thicker than before, and Scott switched mental gears, taking in the red glow on Alan’s nose, along his cheeks, the red-rimmed eyes.

He considered his options; they were in Thunderbird Three, and still had a couple of hours to go before this mission was officially put to bed.  Scott had trained on the sims for Three, but that was before…it was a long time ago, he automatically corrected himself.  Another part of his mind made a mental note; cross training was something to follow up on later.

Alan was his kid brother, but right now, he was a fellow Thunderbird.  Scott made his tactical decision.  “I’m not going to test your temperature right now,” he began.   _I can pretty much see you glowing_ , he mentally added.  “I’m just going to ask you, and I expect an honest answer for the good of the mission: are you flight capable right now?”

Alan sniffed, and for a second he puffed out, but just as quickly his ruffled feathers smoothed back down.  Alan was learning to control his temper.  “I…maybe another hour.  My headache’s getting pretty bad.”

Scott bit back a big-brother remark.  “How long have you had a headache?”

Alan winced, caught regardless.  “About eight hours,” he admitted.  “No-one else could have flown this mission,” he added, cutting off Scott’s argument before he could make it.  “And it was just a little headache then.  It’s only got worse in the last hour or so.”  His competent argument was derailed by another massive sneeze.

Scott added another mental note.  “As soon as you started degrading, you should have reported it.  You know that, Allie.”  Scott sat back, tapping the comm on his sash.  “Thunderbird Five?  Are you receiving me?”

John listened with more patience than Scott could have mustered as Scott sketched their situation.  “You can’t land Three, and Alan’s now an infection vector, so you can’t come here.”

“Eos,” Alan said on a sneeze.  “She can fly Three fine, put us in orbit.  I’ll nap, and be ready to land when it’s time.”

John nodded before Scott could protest.  “Good idea.”  He leaned back slightly.  “Eos, are you…oh, okay.”

The comm board in front of them glowed for a second, all indicators lighting up before fading.  “Alan Tracy, your suit temperature is elevated, and blood oxygen is less than optimal.  I relieve you.”

“I am relieved,” Alan recited, already lifting up his harness and floating into the air.

“I’m not,” Scott protested.  “Eos is going to fly us?”

“Yes,” she said brightly.  “I’ve also read the annual report and found four mistakes that you missed.  Shall we review?”

Alan’s laugh triggered another round of sneezing that was cut off by the bulkhead closing.

Scott turned back to the console, unsure where to look.  “Shouldn’t you be flying?”

“I can multitask.  The first is on page four…”

Scott groaned and slumped back in his seat.


End file.
